


Missing Moment

by ariaadagio



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-28
Updated: 2012-09-28
Packaged: 2018-01-26 09:34:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1683572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariaadagio/pseuds/ariaadagio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing MerDer snuggles from the S8 finale. Because, hello? Where were the snuggles?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Missing Moment

**Author's Note:**

> This story addresses two needs. One, there were no MerDer snuggles in the S8 finale, and I need to have my snuggle quota met, or my muse isn't happy. Happy, now, muse? Two, there was something Meredith did in S5 that, while my kneejerk reaction was to loathe it with the fiery passion of a thousand suns, upon cool down time and a chance at sane analysis, I really liked, and I always wanted to spell it out exactly why I liked it, because I know many other fans were similarly incensed at the time.

Meredith Grey determined sometime around 11:47 PM the first night following their crash that her stomach had decided to eat itself, an elephant had gotten loose underneath her skull and was playing hopscotch on her brain, and her leg had finally realized she'd pulled a piece of their airplane out of it. These were all facts she happily forgot once Cristina nodded off. One glance at Cristina's head tilting forward against her chest, and Meredith lay down, curled up under the blanket with her shivering husband, and slept as well.

She woke up when her pillow moved. When Derek moved. His body was solid against her. Not really warm, but solid, and she could feel him breathing underneath her. That was all she needed to know in that particular moment. That he was breathing. That he hadn't left, too. She scrunched her fingers against his coat and burrowed closer. 

“No,” she said, determined to sleep. “I don't want to be awake.” 

He rubbed her back. “I'm sorry," he croaked. “I need to get up.”

“No, you don't,” she said, trying not to think about how horrible he sounded, trying not to think about much of anything. 

“I do.”

“You don't.”

“I really do.”

“You're all shock-y,” she protested. 

“Tell that to my bladder,” he said.

She opened her eyes. The plane of his chest was a blur. Beyond him, dry pine needles. Rocks. Trees. A pink, dawn-kissed sky decorated by the faintest wisps of cirrus clouds. Birds chirped. She wished, for a moment, she'd gotten around to asking him to take her camping. This would be almost nice if they were camping.

But they weren't.

A cold fist squeezed around her heart. She swallowed and scooted off him. He made a noise as he sat up. A bad noise that told her he was hurting and didn't feel well. A bad noise that made the cold seem colder. Made her feel alone with preemptive surety.

She watched him silently as he stood. His face was the color of chalk, and his lips were paler still. His eyes had dark circles underneath them, and his crow's feet were pinched with pain instead of laughter like they should have been. He didn't move so well, either, almost like he was tipsy or... 

Like their plane had crashed, and he'd lost a truck full of blood.

When she sat up, she almost passed out. Stupid, stupid hunger. Stupid, stupid concussion. As soon as the black waterfall receded from her vision, she swallowed, and she said, “Do you need help?”

He looked at her. His gaze took her in, toes to head, and it felt odd. Odd to see him size her up so objectively like a doctor. She was used to a hungry expression that said something like, _I'm thinking about you without your clothes on right now, and I **like** it_. He didn't see a sexual object, now. Instead, he was probably seeing what she saw when she looked at him. A shaky, pale, hurting person who needed real medical attention, not the MacGuyver style safety pins and prayers they'd been forced to use out here. 

His gaze softened as he finished his assessment, and the objective doctor looking at her became her husband. “I'll manage, thank you,” he said softly. “Don't put weight on your leg.” And then he lumbered away. Behind a tree where she couldn't see except for the widest part of his shoulders.

Meredith glanced at Cristina, who still slept peacefully on the ground a few feet away, and then to Arizona, who had her eyes open. 

“Is Mark okay?” Meredith said.

Arizona gave her a curtailed nod. “He's hanging on,” she said.

“Jerry?” Meredith called.

“Yeah, fine,” grumbled the pilot from inside the plane, though Meredith couldn't see him. 

Meredith glanced back at the tree Derek had stumbled behind. She couldn't see him anymore, not his shoulders or his hands or anything. The cold fist squeezed tighter. 

“Derek?” she blurted, a little more panicky than she'd meant to sound, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Being this clingy wasn't normal. Was it? 

“I'm okay,” he said with a croaky yell that didn't make her feel better, because she still couldn't see him, and because the essence of him she usually heard when he spoke wasn't there. He wasn't optimistic, sexy, arrogant Derek. He was sick, croaky, blood loss Derek, a Derek she'd never cared to see once, let alone for a second time in two years.

When he eventually shuffled back into view, she didn't relax. He looked like a blade of grass could trip him if he wasn't careful. He panted like he couldn't catch his breath. He leaned shakily against the thick tree trunk that had concealed him. 

“I'm still here. See?” he said, as though he'd read her mind, and then he shambled back to their encampment. 

He picked up a water bottle from their stash by the long-extinguished campfire before returning to her. He held out the bottle for her. The bottle shook.

“Sit before you fall,” she said as she took the bottle and set it beside her for later. 

He collapsed next to her with a heaving breath as though he were grateful to give himself to gravity. She scooted next to him across the dirt, ignoring the inferno flare of pain in her thigh. He shook, and he wasn't quite warm, and the cold fist around her heart squeezed and squeezed. She snuggled closer. He hugged her with his good arm, and he kept the crisp, morning air away from her.

“Are you okay?” he asked her softly.

“I'm fine,” she replied. Except for the part about starvation and pain. 

“How's your head?” he said.

“Too small for the elephant that's frolicking in it,” she grumbled. He tensed, but before he could do anything, she added, “I'm completely lucid; don't bother checking me.”

His body jerked like he'd laughed, but not much. Not enough to make a real sound. 

“What about you?” she said. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” he said.

She chuckled softly. She couldn't help it. “You mean except for the part about starvation and pain?”

“Mmm,” he said, and she couldn't tell if he was agreeing with her or not.

“That's what I meant,” she said.

“I know,” he said, the words rumbling through his breastbone against her ear. He nuzzled her hair, but the motion felt listless. He hadn't stopped shivering since he'd sat down.

She picked up the water bottle. The plastic crackled as she unscrewed the cap. “Drink some water,” she said. “Seriously. Now. You've lost a lot of blood.”

“You were impaled,” he replied. 

“Did you have to safety-pin my leg shut?”

He quirked a tiny grin. “Point.” He took the bottle from her hands and drank four hearty sips before he paused.

“More,” she demanded.

His eyelids lowered, and he swallowed. “I don't think I can keep more down, Mere.”

“Oh,” she said. 

That was bad. That was bad, bad, bad--

He handed the bottle back to her. “Your turn,” he said softly.

She took a sip as well. Her rumble-y stomach wasn't appeased in the slightest, but as the cool water slid down her throat, her eyelids dipped, and she sighed. When she'd finished, she screwed on the cap. She tossed the bottle aside and wrapped her arms around him, careful not to squeeze. 

He relaxed against her. Birds chirped. His breaths evened out, and his weight pressed against her body, like he was close to sleep despite sitting up. Normal Derek wouldn't sleep so much. Normal Derek was up at dawn. The cold fist squeezed.

She clutched his coat. “Remember when your shirt turned pink in the laundry last week?” 

“Hmm,” he murmured absently. And then he lifted his head. “What?” he said with more clarity.

He gazed at her through lowered eyelashes. Squeezed her shoulder with his good hand. She brushed a matted curl away from his forehead. His eyes were dull. There was no twinkle to be found as he looked at her. She watched her reflection shimmer in his pupils.

“Your shirt. The one you threw out. It was white before,” she said. 

“Yeah,” he said.

“It's my fault,” she admitted. “I washed it with my red robe. And I think I broke one of your fishing dinglehoppers a while back.”

His lips curved into a small smile as he looked at her. “Dinglehopper?”

“Well, what would you call it?” she said.

“I'd have to see it,” he said. He kissed her. “I love you, but your vocabulary sometimes eludes me.” 

“I'll show you when we get home,” she said. “Oh, and I dinged your car, too.”

He blinked. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. There's a scratch on the bumper.”

“That's not a scratch,” he said. “That's a crater. That was you?”

“Yeah. And you know that bottle of cologne you really like? Unscripted?”

“What about it?”

She'd wanted his aftershave, but she hadn't been able to find it. Sometimes, when he was away on consults, she dabbed his aftershave on her shirts just to have the familiar scent in bed with her. It felt silly. No, it felt downright stupid. And clingy. And just... mental. And she'd never told him she did it. Ever. She'd never told anyone. 

“I spilled it all,” she confessed. “I was hoping you wouldn't notice until I bought you a new one.” 

He stared at her, a question forming in his eyes, but he didn't speak it. What on earth had she opened his cologne for? She bit her lip. A day ago, if she'd had her way, he never would have known, but something compelled her, now. The cold fist compelled her. 

“You weren't there,” she said. “I couldn't find your aftershave, and I just... wanted you.”

He stared at her for a long moment, but he said nothing. He didn't look like he was going to laugh like she'd expected. He looked... touched. She brushed at her cheeks with her palms and looked away. 

“I use your conditioner, sometimes,” he said. 

She blinked. Looked back at him. “You do?” she said. 

He nodded. “When I miss you.” 

He leaned closer. Pressed his nose against her. Inhaled against her hair as if to demonstrate, and she couldn't help but close her eyes. Relax. Sigh. She forgot about being hungry. About hurting. About all the bad. For a singular, beautiful moment. 

“So, is that everything?” he added.

“Everything?” she said dreamily.

“Everything your hands of destruction have touched?”

She snickered. “I think so,” she said. “Do you forgive me?”

He chuckled softly. “Mere, I don't care about those things; I care about you.”

She nodded. “Good. That's good.”

“This, of course, assumes a dinglehopper isn't my best fishing pole. Then I might be irritated. Just a little.”

“It wasn't a fishing pole,” she said. “It was a dinglehopper.”

“What were you doing searching through my dinglehoppers, anyway?” 

“That sounds vaguely porny,” she said.

“It does, doesn't it?” he said, his voice faint against her ear.

“I was going to ask you to take me fishing,” she said. “Well, camping. Camping and fishing, since fishing goes with camping. I wanted to learn what everything was, first.”

“I would have liked to take you,” he said.

“We'll go when we get back.”

Silence stretched. 

“You don't think we're going to get back, do you?” she said.

He stared dully ahead, eyes out of focus. 

“Derek,” she said. He didn't respond. His lips had lost all hint of color. Panic bit her muscles, and a cold burst of adrenaline of adrenaline hit her like an ice bath. She shook him. The movement made her head pound and her leg throb and her stomach churn with the water she'd just drank. “Derek, hey!” He blinked. The only sound filling the space was birds chirping, and he seemed dumbstruck by the interruption of her words. 

She grabbed the water bottle. He needed the water. If he threw up, he threw up, and at least if he drank first, they'd tried. She shoved the bottle at him. Made him drink a few more sips in harrowing silence. 

“Why don't you lie down again?” she suggested when he'd finished.

“Sorry,” he said, the word stretched with a slur. 

“It's okay,” she told him as she collapsed back to the ground with him. “I feel like crap, too.”

Lying down felt better. Her head didn't hurt as much, at least. She pulled the blanket over them and snuggled against his shivery body. This was crap. This was utter crap. Her eyes watered. She scrunched his shirt between her fingertips. 

“We'll get back,” she said. “We're getting back. They're looking for us right now. You're the optimist. You're not allowed to give up. You're my person, and I love you, and you **can't** give up. Okay?”

“Worried about... my hand,” he said slowly.

“But not that they'll find us?” she said.

“They'll find us,” he said. The first hopeful thing he'd said since she'd found him with his arm cut open to the bone. “They knew... flight path. Just... took them a while to... missing.”

He made enough sense for her to get the gist, at least.

She hugged him. His head tilted to the side. He pressed his nose against her hair. Breathed softly. “Nothing's going to happen to your hand,” she said. “You made me loosen the tourniquet, remember? And you don't have broken bones.” She knew because she'd seen them. The ones in his arm and wrist and hand. No x-ray needed with a gash like that. She still hadn't asked him what had caused it. “You just need some real stitches.” And a freaking transfusion or six. 

“Damaged nerves,” he said.

“Stop,” she whispered as she squeezed her eyes shut. She was trying to be positive for him. Trying so hard. “Please, just stop. I really need optimist Derek right now. Everybody is leaving me. I need optimist Derek to stay. Okay?”

“Will you still... love me?” he said.

She raised her head to squint at him, confused. “What?”

“If I'm not... a surgeon.”

For a moment, she could only blink.

“Told me before.”

And then it clicked. She sighed. He usually got her. He got her so well, it made her wonder if he was reading her mind, most days. But every once in a blue moon, the magical wires got crossed. 

“Derek, there's a huge freaking difference between willfully throwing a gift away because you're too chicken to use it and having it taken away forcibly by a **crap** plane crash.”

He swallowed. “Oh.”

She ran her fingers through his hair. He stared at her like she'd given him a calculus problem to solve when he could barely add three and six to get nine. “And I lied before, anyway,” she confessed.

His lip quirked. Almost a smile. “Oh?”

She shrugged. “I think I've proven over the years that if there's one thing I can't do, it's not love you. I said what you needed to hear when you needed to hear it. That's all.”

“You get the rest of us... to move forward,” he murmured.

“See?” she said. She kissed him. “Now, stop worrying about your hand, okay?”

His eyes glistened. He blinked, and two wet slivers cut down his cheeks. He moved his good hand to wipe them away. But he didn't speak. 

She shifted. Wet pine needles shifted with her. She rested her ear against his chest and listened to the soft thump-thump of his heart and the rush of air as he inhaled and exhaled. The ground was wet and cold, a sharp contrast to his shaky not-quite-warm that made him feel hot in comparison. The sky had brightened. A bird with a whooping, shrill call darted through the branches overhead before zipping to the ground to spear a beetle with its beak. 

“Zola threw up... on your Dartmouth shirt,” he said. “It's stained.”

“What?”

“And I used your toothbrush... yesterday morning.”

“Your halitosis touched my toothbrush?”

“Yeah,” he said. He wiped his face again. “And I let... Lexie. I let her borrow... your earrings.”

“Which earrings?”

“Um...” He sighed. Shuddered. Like he was having trouble thinking so hard. He hugged her weakly with his good arm. “Little silver hoops.”

“I thought I'd lost those.”

“I guess she still... has them.”

Meredith swallowed. “Had them.”

“Yeah,” Derek said. “I'm sorry.”

Meredith blinked. “I can't ask her where she left them.”

“I know,” he said.

Something splintered inside, like the cold, squeezing fist had squeezed too hard and something had broken. The back of her throat hurt, and her eyes pricked. “Derek, I...” she began, and then she lost her words. The world blurred. She blinked, and it sharpened again, only to blur a moment later. “I can't ask her where she left them.”

“Shh,” he said, squeezing her shoulder. “I'm... here.”

She scrubbed at her eyes frantically. Hiccoughed as she reined it all in again. That all had to wait. She couldn't fall apart, yet. “I'm fine. It's fine. We're fine right now. The rest... later. Please.”

“If you want,” he said neutrally.

She nodded. “I do.”

“Okay,” he said, and he held her in silence. 

As the moments passed, he closed his eyes. She bit her lip. Cold washed her in a bath. 

“Please, don't leave me, too,” she said.

He peered through his eyelashes at her. “Not going... anywhere,” he said. 

She curled against him. Her stomach growled.

“They'll find us... soon,” he said. “They'll have... cold pizza... just for... you. 'N Zola will be there.” 

“I want ZoZo,” she said.

“Soon,” he said.

She wanted to believe him, but she felt so cold. So many people gone. Just **gone**. And he might be next.

“Mere?” he said.

“What?” she said, the word sharp. Almost panicked.

He swallowed thickly. “Please, don't leave me, either,” he said with the voice of a kindred spirit. 

His words were enough to help her find the brakes, and her composure screeched to a halt before it fell over the cliff. 

He'd been left by a lot of people, too.

She wiped her eyes as she stared at him. Took a deep, long breath, and let it out. 

“I won't leave,” she said. “I'm fine.”

Just saying the words gave her a little power.

She interlocked her fingers with his.

With him, she did what she'd been doing like a champion since she'd been a child. 

She kept breathing.

So did he.

And that was the way of things.


End file.
